Mammy Jincy's Fortune
by kinseynelson
Summary: Things aren't always as they seem...


Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs - apologies to Mammy Jincey, for her character extrapolation.

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><p><em><strong>Mammy Jincy's Fortune<strong>_

_**A Gone With the Wind Fanfic (Halloween Edition)**_

_**By: Kinsey Nelson**_

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><p>Mammy Jincy's face was black as tar. In the daylight, she could be seen walking to and fro between the great plantations of Clayton County, from Mimosa to Twelve Oaks, to Tara and Fairhill. The woman marched with an authoritative stance that was absent from any of the other slaves - even the other Mammies, notoriously proud creatures as befitting their elevated stations. After all, it was the Mammy who reared the Master's children, not the Mistress. Therefore, it was the Mammy who molded the future in her loving black hands. But Mammy Jincy was a different sort altogether. The mere mention of her name when whispered into the ears of naughty children, black or white, was enough to cause their very breaths to cease and enough to ensure that their misdeeds were at an end - at least until it was necessary to evoke the name again.<p>

But despite the aura of mystery surrounding her, Mammy Jincy was a familiar sight on the back roads of the County. She was oft times summoned in the middle of the night to attend to sick folk, to bring babies that were too stubborn or too sickly to survive without her aid - at least - before Ellen Robillard O'Hara showed up. A fifteen-year-old debutante with the face of an angel and the figure of a Grecian goddess, Ellen O'Hara presented a graceful, God-fearing alternative to the ministrations of Mammy Jincy, some of which, it was said, bordered on the occult.

Ellen would have never dreamt of taking up such a mantle had the words of Mammy Jincy's powers not reached her delicate and devout ears. The idea that a voodoo priestess, or very near to one, would potentially be summoned to witness the birth of her firstborn child was too much for Ellen's sensibilities to be ignored, and a few well-placed words to her doting husband were all it took to ascertain that Mammy Jincy was forever banished from Tara.

"But Ellen, dear," Mrs. Beatrice Tarleton said over tea one day, "Mammy Jincy is known to do all sorts of things -sure as day she cured my Boyd from his fever and made him well again. Why, I'll go out on a limb and tell you that Mrs. John Wilkes was barren for years and years. You understand, Ellen, it is a result of all the inbreeding in that family. I always say, cousins should not procreate. It weakens the strain."

Ellen sighed, her eyes betraying no emotion from within their inky depths. "I understand you, Mrs. Tarleton. But surely you realize that medicine and your tender care saved your son. And that Mrs. Wilkes was blessed with children because she prayed to God and He granted her request in His mercy."

"Psh." Beatrice made a noise that sounded oddly reminiscent to that made by her mare, Nellie. "My darkies even say that she'll mix a love potion for a price. My butler even swore to Mr. Tarleton that he watched her raise my stable boy from the dead after he'd been kicked in the gut by my Nellie. Idiot boy."

"That is bordering on blasphemy, Mrs. Tarleton," Ellen crossed herself, from then on vowing that she would make it her personal mission to bear witness to Christ for the poor ignorant fools of Clayton County. God would heal their sick - not Mammy Jincy. And she, Ellen Robillard (for that is how she thought of herself, privately) would allow herself to be a vessel.

If she died from some illness, well, at least it would not be in vain.

So Ellen worked through the summer following her arrival at Tara, diligently making herself available to every person, black or white, who needed care in time of illness or other trouble. When Mrs. O'Hara was summoned, it was understood that Mammy Jincy need not be called too.

On All Hallows Eve night, in the year of Our Lord, 1845, Ellen O'Hara began to feel the pains of a first labor, suffering quietly in her own solar rather than retiring to the master bedroom where her husband lay asleep. At the insistence of her own Mammy, who would naturally serve as Mammy to her unborn child, she sent a small boy to Mimosa with summons for Doctor Fontaine. It was a dark, moonless night, and the boy returned half an hour later, trailed not by the steady booted footsteps of the old doctor, but by the shuffling, rangy figure of Mammy Jincy, who had been sleeping over at Mimosa following a slave woman's delivery of her first babe.

"I help," Mammy Jincy said, indicating the suffering Ellen.

"Not while Ah's got breath in mah body!" Ellen's Mammy ejaculated. "Git out, devil trash!"

Mammy Jincy smiled, showing even white teeth, which shone like bright little diamonds against her black face.

"She doan' want dis chile. I can see. I help."

"Shut yo mouth, trash! Devil! Ah's gwine kill you 'fore you sets dem devil eyes on Miss Ellen!"

"I go. I warn you."

Mammy Jincy's cold, black eyes made contact with Ellen's.

"I go now."

With this in mind, Ellen was shaken as never before, convinced that Mammy Jincy was indeed in touch with some sort of otherworldly power, divine or demonic. Whichever, it was to be avoided at all costs - this rule was enacted throughout Tara, the unspoken implication for the slaves was that one who did business with Mammy Jincy would eventually be found out and ultimately sold south. The mistress had declared it, and after all, they all were aware that Ellen's was always the final word.

And so it was for the eldest child of Tara, one Katie Scarlett, born on All Hallows Eve, 1845 - Mammy Jincy was a forbidden subject.

Yet Ellen Robillard's daughter was unsurpassed in her curiosity. It was the occasion of her fourteenth birthday and Ashley Wilkes, lately returned from his Grand Tour of Europe had arranged to throw a ball in her honor - or his mother had. But that tiny, insignificant detail mattered not to Scarlett, who, only recently having discovered the charms of the opposite sex had in her girlish mind designated Ashley as the lucky recipient of her undying devotion.

The fact, however, that Ashley was Scarlett's choice was lost upon the other young men of the County, equally confident that each and every one of them had a fighting chance to win the affection of the eldest O'Hara girl before anyone else did. So, in this spirit of revelry and friendly competition did the young men of the County gather round Scarlett O'Hara in the grand ballroom of Twelve Oaks with the intention of presenting her with the most enrapturing tale of fright and their subsequent heroism.

"I declare, Tony Fontaine," Scarlett said with all the confidence of a seasoned belle, "I do not believe that you have single-handedly slain a werewolf with a shovel."

"I know what it was he hit - Boyd!" Brent Tarleton jibed, causing the aforementioned Tony to turn crimson with embarrassment at being shown up in front of Miss O'Hara.

"Alright, Ashley, it's your turn," she turned her eyes upward toward his handsome face. "And it had better be good."

He shrugged his elegant shoulders. "I'm sorry, Scarlett. I must admit that I know no ghostly tales, I boast no encounters with the supernatural, real or imagined."

"Oh Ashley, couldn't you just make one up? For me?" Scarlett giggled slightly as she observed him blushed a little. Of course he loves me, she told herself internally.

"I - well - I'm sorry, Scarlett, I just don't know. Charles, can you oblige in my stead? I need to go upstairs and see how Melanie is doing."

Charles, Melanie's elder brother, looked aghast at being asked to speak, and Tony hurriedly used his silence to his advantage, maneuvering himself into Ashley's position directly facing Scarlett.

"Charlie's just jealous 'cause his baby sister's gonna be engaged 'fore he ever gets up enough gumption to say boo to a goose."

Charles stared down at the floor, and Scarlett felt vaguely sorry for him - but not enough to forget that Ashley had abandoned her side for Charles's sickly, mousy, pale-faced sister.

Forgetting that Charles Hamilton was there, Scarlett returned her attention to Brent Tarleton, who was making a loud declaration that he would walk with Charlie down to the slave cabins to get Mammy Jincy to read his fortune.

"Maybe she can point you in the right direction," Brent clapped Charlie on the back, causing the rest of the boys to roar with appreciative laughter.

"I'll go!" Scarlett piped up, feeling emboldened by the swarm of young men surrounding her. "I want my fortune read, too."

"Miss O'Hara," Charles Hamilton managed to spit out, "you certainly can't…it's dark and…"

"Pipe down, Charlie. Scarlett's a County girl. She ain't sickly like your sister, no offense to Miss Melanie," Stuart, Brent's twin brother, said in a mocking voice.

Again, Charlie's face flushed, and Scarlett was compelled again to feel sorry for him.

"You can walk me down, Mr. Hamilton," she said coyly. "Well, you may have one arm."

"I'll fight you for the other," Tony cracked his knuckles threateningly, glaring at the Tarleton twins.

"Brent can take the other arm," Scarlett soothed Tony's seething temper, "since it was his idea. You and Joe can walk me back."

"Good idea." Brent smiled, triumphant.

Together the small party slipped quietly from the house toward the slave cabins, which lay on the edge of the creek bank. Every night sound caused Scarlett to tremble, yet she valiantly tried to repress the feelings of dread as she felt the warm bodies of Charles Hamilton and Brent Tarleton next to her. They wouldn't let any harm come to her…if only one of them was Ashley…

"This is it," Brent whispered. "Charles, you go first."

"No way," he shook his head. "I've heard stories about this Mammy Jincey, none at all good."

"Great balls of fire, I'll go!" Scarlett snapped, brushing them aside and stepping without hesitation onto the low stoop of the hut. She raised her hand to knock just as the door swung open and Mammy Jincy bade her to enter. With one last glance at Charles Hamilton's horrified face, she entered, and the door was slammed shut behind her.

"I have been expecting you," the old woman said, pointing to a low stool adjacent to the fire and indicating that Scarlett should take a seat. "Your Mother's daughter."

"You…know my Mother?"

"Yes. Ahh. I see the heart. Many things for you. Yes, yes. But the heart that you desire belong to someone else. You hate her, yes?"

Scarlett shuffled uncomfortably on the stool. She hated Melanie Hamilton. But Ashley didn't love Melanie, did he?

"I don't know."

"You want him to love you?"

"Ashley?" Scarlett cried eagerly, "Yes, of course. More than anything!"

"It take much magic to break the spell of his love. Bad consequences. For you, too."

"You're telling me that you can make him love me and only me?" Scarlett asked with wide eyes.

The old woman nodded. "Old magic."

"I beg you, Mammy Jincy. Please! I love him."

The old woman knelt before the boiling black cauldron at her hearth and added numerous ingredients from glass vials, chanting as she did so. At long last, she poured the elixir she had concocted into a cup and handed it to Scarlett.

"Drink. Now."

"Me?"

"No. Your love. Before the full moon rises."

"Thank you," Scarlett stammered, taking her potion and holding it close to her chest. "I won't forget that I have you to thank for my happiness."

The old woman smiled, and Scarlett felt a chill in her bones. Something evil was occurring in this place. She had to get out of here - but it would all be worth it if Ashley asked her to marry him.

"Wait." The old woman called out to Scarlett as she turned to go.

"A dark-haired man. A long moustache. You know dis man?"

"No," Scarlett shook her head.

"I see dis man. Your future is rife with this man."

"You're wrong about that," Scarlett drew herself up proudly, clutching her potion in her hand. "I despise dark-haired men, and even more so those with long moustaches!"

Nearly a fortnight had passed before Scarlett had an opportunity to test Mammy Jincy's potion. There was a small card party at Fairhill and she had been given the opportunity to serve as a hostess, since the elder Miss Tarletons were away studying at the Fayetteville Female Academy. She designated Ashley's glass of brandy first, and stealthily poured in the contents of Mammy Jincy's making. This was it, Scarlett thought with glee. This is the night that Ashley will fall in love with me!

She entered the parlor carrying the tray, but was surprised to see many more tables hastily set up and many more guests than expected. Nervously passing the drinks around so as to avoid confusion, she hurriedly headed back towards the butler's pantry for more glasses.

"Ashley!" she called out for him, handing him his glass, "this is yours."

"Thank you, Scarlett. How thoughtful you are, my dear," Ashley winked at her, his grey eyes smiling along with his mouth.

Perhaps he didn't even need the potion, Scarlett thought delightedly, he loves me already!

Upon her return to the parlor several minutes later, she found that Ashley, being ever the gentleman, had given his drink to a black-haired, broad-shouldered gentleman standing next to him that she didn't recognize.

Great balls of fire, Scarlett fumed internally - I'll just have to make him fall in love with me another way.

As she considered carefully just how she was going to accomplish that, she managed to miss the exchange between Ashley and the guest who had inherited his drink, the owner of the broad shoulders. So involved was she in her thoughts, she did not even notice the look of love and adoration in his black eyes as they fixed upon her.

Back in her cabin, Mammy Jincy was finishing a singsong litany, a sly smile forming upon her face.


End file.
